


Walls - Maze Runner x Teen Wolf

by orphan_account



Series: Story Starter Prompts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gladers, Memory Loss, Multi, No romo, Stiles Stilinski is Thomas (Maze Runner)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They say you have different names.They say you belong to certain people.They say you are not who you are.You have suffered, you have fought, you have lost, and hurt, and burned, and cried. You have fallen, you have been pushed, you fight your way to your feet. You have jumped, you have run, you have climbed, you have hid. Those around you make you who you are, but your experiences determine who you are loyal to.
Relationships: Gladers (Maze Runner) - Relationship, McCall Pack (Teen Wolf)
Series: Story Starter Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800397
Comments: 4
Kudos: 139





	Walls - Maze Runner x Teen Wolf

Thomas stared at the wall. He'd been staring at the wall for a while now. He knew he was being watched, because there was a fairly obvious security camera in the corner of the room, slightly behind him and to his right. Not much like WICKED. Then again, they'd escaped WICKED, blown them sky-high and burned their papers, destroyed their servers, killed everyone who'd been in that building.

Sometimes, he wished he was back in the Maze. He'd only been in the hospital for two weeks, but he wished he was back there. It wasn't easier, but it was simpler. Thomas knew what was expected of him in the Maze. Be a Runner, map the Maze, don't get back late. He knew how to be a Runner. He knew how to deal with the Glade. He didn't know how to be a normal human teenager. He didn't know how to deal with the doctors and nurses, who actually cared about his well-being. He didn't know how to handle everything.

They'd been given a room to share, after Sonya had a panic attack and broken two noses and a wrist trying to get to her brother. And after Harriet had broken someone's jaw with a punch, waking up from a nightmare. And after Aris had practically been jacked for twenty minutes when they changed his IV needle.

They had three beds, pushed together. No window; probably so they couldn't jump out and kill themselves. The only WICKED scientist who'd survived the explosion had done that, taking the option away from the Gladers. They had their weapons. Mostly because the staff had figured out it seemed to be more of a comfort thing than a need to be able to slit peoples throats. Which was probably morbid, Thomas admitted.

So Newt had his machete. Sonya had a pair of thin knives. Aris had a dagger. Harriet had her bow, and quiver. The rest of them had small knives, and their gear from the Maze. Thomas felt more comfortable in the dirty blue shirt and wrapped gloves and the small leather armor chest-plate pack thing than he did in the 'real' clothes they'd been offered. They all did. They all wore what they'd worn back in the Maze. And in the Scorch, before they were put in the simulation of Phase Three.

Teresa sat in a white plastic chair, leaning back, sitting under the camera. In her lap, was her file. They'd been printed off. Apparently the servers had backups, ones that the explosion hadn't touched. And while they didn't hold much about the experiments or anything really useful, they had information about their past names. Lives. People who were dead to them.

"I still can't believe my name is Deedee." she muttered again, going through her file for the thousandth time. They were all kind of obsessed with their past lives, even if the files didn't say much, other than to tell them that Harriet's family was dead, Newt and Sonya's families were dead, Aris's uncle was in jail for manslaughter, that Teresa had living family in the same town that Thomas did. That the rest of them didn't have family at all. At least, alive ones. Or ones that weren't in jail. And Minho had a grandmother somewhere in Europe, who wanted nothing to do with him, and had disowned him.

"I still can't believe someone would name their kid Mieczysław." Thomas grumbled, only stumbling slightly over the word. "I doubt anyone but a genius could say that. Unless they speak Polish."

"We're all geniuses." Sonya pointed out dryly, from where she was pressed against her brother's side on one of the beds. "That's why they took us. Because we were smart, and they wanted to know why and how to make it happen for them, or did you forget? Again?"

Her jab was ignored.

"This has to be another test." Harriet whispered, perched on the edge of the middle bed, knees pulled close to her chest. "It has to be, this has to be another Phase. What one are we at now?"

"The Maze was Phase One." Teresa said flatly, her fists clenching as she remembered the place. The Glade, the nearly hundred boys and girls in there together, with another pair coming up each month. The deaths. The grievers. The walls. The serum. "Phase Two was the Scorch. Phase Three was... between the Scorch and Paradise. Paradise was Phase Four. This has to be Phase Five. I wasn't involved in planing beyond Phase One. None of us were, it was only WICKED who was."

Aris' fists tightened around the hem of his pants, where he was pressed with his back against the wall, knees to his chest like Harriet. He bit his lower lip, eyes closing tightly. "Maybe we were. They wiped us. The memories Thomas got back, they were all implants. Made to give us a way out of the Maze. It wasn't real. You have to know that Teresa."

"I don't know what's real anymore." Minho murmured, from the head of the middle bed, fingering the watch he wore. He still had it, beaten up and scratched and and bit melted and cracked, but somehow, still telling the time. Thomas' was gone. Newt didn't have one anymore. Sonya and Aris never had watches, and Harriet had thrown hers away during the Scorch. "I don't even know if you guys are real."

"We're real." Thomas said, voice tight and tense. "We have to be real. We have to hang onto something."

Sonya said nothing, spinning the pale ring she wore on her left hand around and around and around. She'd been given it by one of the female Gladers, back when she and Newt had entered the Maze. She'd been the youngest to enter at that point in time. They'd been somewhat protective of her for the first little while. The ring was made out of pale wood, thick and carved haphazardly, but it fit snugly on her finger, worn down to hold on perfectly. Thomas was fairly certain she hadn't taken it off since the day she'd put it on.

"We just play along then." Newt sighed, leaning back on the bed, his fingers sliding away from his bad knee. "For now."

"For now." the rest of them echoed. "For now."

* * *

There was a knock on the door. All the Gladers were awake instantly, and not only Harriet and Minho, who'd silently taken the second watch of the evening, after Thomas and Newt had fallen asleep. They silently shifted, reaching for weapons, eyes on the door as it was pushed open to reveal a woman, with wavy dark brown hair held back in a low ponytail, dressed in dark green nurse's clothing.

"Hello." she said, not bothered by the weaponry. Although she'd likely been warned before hand. And she might be WICKED; the Gladers weren't about to dismiss the possibility. Since it was the most likely one, in any case. "I'm Melissa McCall. I'm here to speak to you about your options from here on out."

The Gladers all exchanged glances, the bond they'd been forced into in the Scorch flaring up.

:Let her talk.: Teresa ordered, slowly and carefully closing her file, rising to her feet, setting it down on the chair where she'd been sitting. She moved over to the bed that Thomas was sitting on, and sat down beside him, shoulder pressed against shoulder. :If she does something wrong, we can subdue her, make our escape.:

She didn't really need to tell them that. They all knew. But it was easier to slip into the roles they'd formed for themselves. Teresa was the 'Calm Before the Storm' leader. Thomas was the 'Storm is Here' leader. Minho was the 'Eye of the Storm Leader'. Newt kept them together, Sonya kept their heads on their shoulders, Harriet protected all of them more fiercely than anyone else could, and Aris was the voice of reason.

It was just easier to fall in line, give and take orders like they'd trained themselves to. So they all took up seemingly relaxed stances. Their weapons still there, but not yet threatening. Melissa gestured towards one of the empty plastic chairs by the door. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead." Teresa said, voice calm and unwavering. Her eyes, just like everyone else's, tracked the woman as she sat down, resting her clipboard on her knee's. "What did you want to say?"

"As you know, we've located your family." Melissa said calmly, a finger running down the page. "Two of you are from Beacon Hills. That's a city here, in California. Mieczysław -" she stumbled over the pronunciation in a way that told them she'd tried to say it before, tried to perfect the way she did, but hadn't quite managed. They tensed all the same.

"My name is Thomas." Thomas said flatly. "Not whatever mess of sounds that is."

The woman nodded. "Alright. Thomas, you and Deedee -"

"Teresa." Teresa corrected in a bored tone. "We're using _our_ names. Not whatever names you think we have. Alright?"

The woman paused, then nodded. "If you could give me the names you go by, and the names I've been given for you, I'll correct that right now."

A pause. Then, Teresa spoke. :Do it.:

"Minho. They said I'm 'Alex'."

"Aris. Um... Will Scott."

"Harriet. Abigail Jones, dumbest name ever."

:I thought me and Tom had the bad names?:

:All our names are stupid.:

"Sonya. Elizabeth."

"Newt. Sam Williams. I'm Sonya's brother."

Melissa nodded, her mechanical pencil scratching at the papers, crossing things out, and writing things in. "Sonya with a 'Y', or Sonia with an 'I'?"

"The first one." Sonya chose. They hadn't actually been given the 'proper' way to spell their names. They only knew what they sounded like. Meaning, Aris, was completely allowed to spell his name as 'airras' and it might still be right. Not that it had stuck very long.

"Alright then. Thomas and Teresa, you have family in Beacon Hills, as I mentioned. Thomas, your father is the Sheriff . Teresa, your family own's a small grocery store. You have an older sister, Morgan, and two fathers."

:Wait, did she say -:

:Shut up Harriet.: Teresa snapped. :Why does it even matter?:

:It doesn't! I just thought it was interesting, okay!:

:You guys look crazy.: Aris grumbled, from where he was still sitting against the wall. :Like you zoned out.:

Teresa blinked back to the real world, alongside Harriet, to find that Melissa was still speaking, as if she'd never even noticed the two girls seemingly zoning out. "- we believe it would be better for your mental health if you remain together, therefore we'll be speaking to your families, asking if you can remain with them."

:Good.:

Teresa nodded. "Alright."

"You have a choice right now." Melissa said, flipping through the papers clipped on her board. She took one out, offering it to Teresa, recognizing the girl as the current leader of the Gladers. "You can either return to Beacon Hills once we get all your paper's sorted out, and meet your families there, or they can come here, and bring you back to Beacon Hills."

Teresa took the paper. It was some kind of waiver, a temporary identity or something of the sort. She studied it, as Melissa pulled out another paper.

"We've noticed that you prefer the names that WICKED gave you."

A scoff from Newt.

"If you want, we can legally change your names to those. We think it'll help with the transition back to... normal society. Make it a bit smoother."

She held out the second page, and Thomas took it, as Teresa was studying the fine print of the first paper. It was an application for a legal change of name. He looked at Melissa, then narrowed his brows, trying to prod her mind. He couldn't read thoughts, not unless the other person was forcefully projecting, only emotions. She was sad, as if she'd lost someone she knew very well, and had only gotten word of their death. He knew what that felt like; Aris, when he'd woken up after the Maze, asking for Rachel. But she was also slightly hopeful. And shockingly calm.

"We haven't managed to figure out how they removed your memory." she continued, after a moment. After Teresa passed the first form over to Minho, and took the second from Thomas. "And it's likely we won't, and likely that we won't be able to reverse it. You may get some things. Impressions. Sensations."

"Déjà vu." Harriet said dully, and Melissa nodded.

"That's a very apt term, yes."

"If we chose to go back now." Teresa said, passing the second form onto Newt, who started to read the moment he held it in his hands, Sonya reading it over his shoulder. "What exactly is going to happen?"

"In two weeks, the school year begins." Melissa started. "You're no longer legally dead, and while you've missed a fair bit of school,"

: _Fair bit._ Hilarious.:

:Slim it.:

"- you've told us that WICKED taught you things, correct?"

"Yeah." Thomas said, the back of his hand pressing against Teresa's. One of her fingers pushed harder against the back of his knuckles, reassuringly real. "About the only things we can remember from before the - entire thing."

"A placement test would be needed to be taken." Melissa said calmly. "And you'd have to study for your GED if you're of age, but that's more a formality. The placement test, I mean. You'll be placed in a classroom with people your age, and tutored in subjects that you're lacking in. If it turns out that's too much, we can arrange private lessons instead."

Teresa nodded, looking at the rest of them. :Alright. Votes?:

:I say we go now.: Thomas said immediately. :No sense in waiting around for the other shoe to drop, let's just get it over with already.:

:Good that.: Newt agreed, the sentiment followed by Minho. Aris gave an actual nod, and Harriet let out a mental sigh.

:Whatever at this point.:

:Whatever you guys chose.: Sonya murmured, still reading the form with her brother. :I just want this to end.:

:Don't we all.: Teresa lifted her head, looking right at Melissa's eyes. "We'll go now. No sense in wasting time, am I right?"

"Good that." Newt repeated, this time aloud. "When we going then?"

"We can arrange to transportation tomorrow morning."

* * *

The hospital was dark. The only light in the room was dim, barely lighting up anyone. Thomas had spent weeks in the darkness of the Scorch, and days in the darkness of the Maze, and Sonya had been in the Maze, on nighttime guard duty, even longer than he had (he'd only really done two nights, being a Runner and all, and she'd arrived two months before he had). Sonya, perched on the side of the bed closest to the door, and Thomas, standing beside her, are the two guards on duty, for the night shift.

Ever since the Scorch, their sleep patterns changed. They fall asleep sometime in the afternoon, and the first watch lasts until moonrise was clearly visible. Then, the watchers would switch out, and the sleeping would last until early morning, before sunrise was even visible. Around moonset. Then, the Gladers would rise, and start their day. It was good, meant they were usually ready for anything that may happen, and it had the uncanny affect of freaking the hospital staff out, when they came in for early morning check-ups, to see the Gladers already awake.

They were silent for the first hour and a half. Unflinching. Sonya only moved at the hour and a half mark to stretch her legs, and Thomas took the seat at the bed, while she remained standing. For a few minutes, they were silent, until Sonya let out a shuttering breath, drawing Thomas' attention. Their eyes met, and she shakily held out her hand, in a silent request that he obliged without question.

Thomas reached out for Sonya's hand, their fingers brushing each other. His gloves, the leather that covered his forearms, stitched with ragged stitches, the dirty grey-blue fabric wrapping up to his knuckles, between his fingers, around his palms and wrists, almost up to his elbows. She wore her wooden ring, her archery brace clinking softly against his leather armor, as they grasped each other's forearms.

Sonya let out a shuttering breath, fingers tightening around Thomas' arm, just below the elbow. Her eyes closed. "I'm scared."

"We're all scared." Thomas replied, just as quietly. "I've been scared since I woke up in the Box with Rachel."

"Me too." Sonya whispered. Her eyes opened, meeting Thomas. "I miss our slang. Being used all the time. We haven't used it since we got here."

"Yeah." Thomas laughed quietly. "Greenie. Blondie. Good way to name us, when we don't always remember."

"Greenie for the boys." Sonya recalled, smiling softly. "Blondie for the girls. The Maze was a pile of klunk, but at least we knew what to do. How to stay swimming. I wish we were back there sometimes."

"I think we all do." Thomas agreed, as the two of them looked over their family. Because that's all that was left anymore. Just family. Only Newt and Sonya were actually related; the rest of them didn't share blood or genetics. But they were family. After all they'd been through, they had to be. It was the only was to stay standing. Don't look back. Don't turn around. Just live.

Everyone who'd died in the Maze, had died for real. The Maze had been a real creation, a real place. But after the Maze, everything had been a lie. They'd been put in a very real simulation. Some kids died of the stress, or the belief that they had died. They got scars, because WICKED cut them, to give the illusion that it was even more real than they thought.

Thomas drew in a shuttering breath, just like Sonya had. "Calm before the storm." he recited, a turn of phrase that's deeply buried in his subconscious, for no reason that he can ever figure out. Maybe it's something Mieczysław used to do, before he died, and Thomas replaced him. Maybe it's something that Mieczysław heard a lot, before WICKED took him. Maybe it's something that Mieczysław thought about a lot, before he vanished forever.

"Maybe this is our personal hell." Sonya laughed without humor, shoulders shaking with the sound, all the way down to her hand. "Maybe we were evil before, and this is hell, or whatever."

"Least we have each other." Thomas pointed out, giving a feeble smile, and she returned it. "Can't be too bad of a hell, right?"

* * *

It turns out, the woman, Melissa McCall, lived in Beacon Hills. And the only reason she was at the hospital the Gladers were sent to, was because her son was friends with Mieczysław. She didn't seem to understand what the Gladers had already realized, long ago, in the Maze. Thomas was not Mieczysław. In the least. They might look the same and they might sound the same, but they weren't the same. In the least.

Thomas was a Runner.

Mieczysław was not.

Teresa was a telepathic genius.

Deedee was not.

Newt was glue, who held them together.

Sam was not.

Sonya was sharp-eyed.

Elizabeth was not.

Minho was the leader of the Runners.

Alex was not.

Aris was a kid with a talent for sneaking around everywhere.

Will was not.

Harriet was a fierce fighter.

Abigail was not.

They'd already finished the forms to legally change their names. And turned them in. Melissa had looked slightly startled, and faintly sad, but hadn't questioned their insistence to keep their WICKED names. But their reasons were simple. They weren't the kids they'd been before WICKED. They were something else. Chipped and cracked and broken and shattered and torn and ripped, held together with tape and glue and ragged stitches and staples. They knew the names of things, of honey and libraries, and school, but didn't have any memories of those things. They knew how to fight, not use computers. They knew how to break into top-notch buildings, not fill out tests.

They were Gladers. Runners, Track-hoes, Med-jacks. They weren't... students. Kids. Teenagers. They were used to being in control. And they were being thrown into an environment that took control away, more than before. Except for maybe the start of Phase Two.

They all got into the van that she'd driven to the hospital in, with Teresa sitting beside the woman, Sonya, Harriet, Thomas and Newt in the very back, squashed together, and Minho, with Aris, in the middle. They balanced their backpacks on their knees, an arm looped through one strap, ready to swing the bag onto their backs at a moment's notice, the other at the seat-belt release clasp, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They remained outwardly silent, speaking occasionally between each other's minds. Pointing out good ambush points, and escape points, taking in every detail possible.

They'd been told the Flare wasn't real; and it made enough sense. Newt was still alive. There were no Cranks. No Scorch. No solar flare. Everything after the Scorch had been a simulation. They'd killed people, real people, thinking they were saving them from the Flare. Had those people been brainwashed? Willingly thrown themselves before the bullets and knives and machetes and spears and arrows?

The drive took over three hours. They arrived in Beacon Hills a little after noon, and Melissa, who'd started to fill the car with senseless chatter for the final half hour, started to speak about their families.

"I'm quite good friends with Noah." she prattled on, not noticing that Newts hand was inching towards the sheath on his back where his machete was, or Sonya smacking his hand with her own, making him relax slightly. "We've kept in touch. Unfortunately my son insisted on coming over for dinner, even though I'm not sure that's the best idea. And Teresa, your fathers will be coming over as well, to see you. We've arranged for you to stay at Noah's house for the time being, since they don't have a room set up for you. You and your sister used to share, from what I understand, and with her off at university, they changed it into a storage room, I'm afraid it'll take a while for them to set it up for you."

"That's fine." Teresa said curtly, as they pulled into a residential area. Melissa nodded, taking a side street, slowing down the car. "Who exactly will be over?"

"My son, Scott." Melissa elaborated, even though they already knew who Scott was; well, had barely heard of him. "And your fathers. John and George. Along with myself, and Noah. Since it's his house, of course."

"Of course." Teresa echoed, as the car veered. The Gladers all tensed, those with weapons hidden near their hands reaching for them. But it turned out the nurse was only backing into a driveway, the bump of the gutter making them all lurch as they went over it. The car parked, lurching slightly before the wheels stalled, and Melissa took out the keys, starting to open her door.

"Alright. Here we are."

Teresa got out first. Minho following him, Aris jumping out third. The group in the back climbed out last, and Newt slid the door shut behind them. They looked up at the house. Two stories. A few windows. A small entrance porch. A lawn with a few weeds, and grass longer than the neighbors, although not by all that much. One of the house letters was slightly crooked, and the paint was starting to peel. As Melissa went up the three steps, the wood creaked under her feet.

:Into the fire.: Minho said dryly, clipping his backpack's strap over his chest, and adjusting it. The others did the same. There was no doubt in their minds, that if it was another trial, WICKED would set it off within the next forty-eight hours.

:Hip-hip-hooray.: Harriet cheered, voice laced with sarcasm as she started forwards, even as Melissa opened the door, called out.

"Noah? We're here!"

Harriet led them into the house, with Minho and Aris taking up the rear, the rest of them taking up the middle of the pack, slightly spread out, ready for the danger to make itself known.

The entrance hall was sparse. An old rug, a closet for jackets. Melissa smiled at them, not commenting when they removed her shoes like she did. A voice called from the space down the hall, and the Gladers turned to Newt, metaphorically, for what the person saying it was feeling. For he was the best at that. He rolled his eyes subtly, but relayed the information without fuss. Excited. Nervous. Terrified. Worried. Thrilled. Nervous, again.

They stepped into the room. It was a cross between a kitchen, living room, and dining table, a man standing up from the couch, eyes sort of strange, as he searched the kids with his eyes. His eyes widened at the sight of their weapons, at the sight of their stances and grimy clothes and equipment, but not a single one of them cared, because all they cared about was that the man was moving closer and closer.

"Stiles."

They all hesitated, balked at the name, because they'd told Melissa no. They'd told everyone no, they were going by their Glade names. Not whatever messed up set of noises people had called them before. And what even was 'Stiles'? That wasn't any of their names.

"We don't have a 'Stiles'." Harriet said bluntly, planting her feet, fists clenching. "So, cram it with the nonsense names. We got names of our own, and we'll go by them, got it?"

Melissa let out a strangled, nervous laugh, because yeah, she hadn't been faced with the teens being like this yet. The threat was veiled, but easy to spot, and while the nurse had seen the kids survival instincts in action - or so she thought she had - she hadn't seen this side of them. The one where Sonya's teeth were bared, and Minho was a tightly coiled spring of energy, ready to fling himself at the threat, and Teresa was stone-faced, more so than usual, eyes narrowed. "Right. I must have forgot that part. Noah, they prefer their... secondary names."

"Oh." the man said, still staring at Thomas, and they all knew what he wanted. His son back. But his son was dead. "What are these, secondary names?"

"Minho, Teresa, Sonya, Harriet, Newt, Thomas and Aris." Melissa explained quickly, pointing to each one of them in turn, and Aris grit his teeth, nails biting into his palms. The way Noah looked at them, the way Melissa said the names, as if their names weren't normal or something. Their names were normal! More so than their 'former' names!

"Oh."

"Where do you want us to stay?" Teresa said, short and curt and clipped. All business. The man, Noah, swallowed, and started to move past them. The group split into two, seamlessly, half on one side of the hall, half on the other, letting Melissa follow Noah to the staircase, and up it. Then, they followed, in the opposite pattern that they'd entered with, Harriet and Newt taking up the back of the group.

They walked up the stairs, Newt only pausing once, his knee acting up slightly, before Harriet tugged on his elbow, pulling him up after her without a fuss. They passed three doors, two on the left, one on the right, and there's a window at the end of the hall. On it's right, is another door, and Noah opened it, gesturing for the kids to enter. "This was Stiles - uh - old room. The spare one is done up for the girls -"

"No." Minho said immediately, as they entered the room, the first two of them taking note of everything, silently broadcasting any potential dangers to the rest of them as Sonya reached into Noah's mind properly, and not just the scan her brother had done, while Newt did the same to Melissa. They all slipped into the room together, and Noah's eyes flitted over them, watching the way they investigated the sleeping bags he'd rolled out, and the bed, with plain checkered blankets and a white pillow, and all the pictures and personal things he'd taken away, at Melissa's suggestion. "We stick together."

:We get through this together.: they all chanted in their heads, subconsciously remembering Rachel's speech, not even realizing they were saying her words. :Or we die trying.:

"We'll have a late lunch." Melissa assured them. "Come down when you're ready, maybe you can go for a walk or some sort."

The Gladers listened to the two adults leave, their footsteps loud and thudding, and only then did they relax for a minute, taking a second to breathe. Newt tumbled onto the bed, rubbing at his knee with a grimace. Thomas sat down beside him, and then let out a groan, falling backwards on the mattress. Aris sat down on the desk, slowly taking off his gear.

:I just want food.: he sighed quietly, setting the bag on the desk beside him, and tugging his thin hoodie closer to himself, sinking into it as best he could. :And sleep, and I - I want a home guys.:

:We all do.: Minho pointed out, closing the door with a click. He stepped towards the window. :Are we sure about them?:

:Yes.: Newt said tiredly, fingers digging into his knee even harder, and his grimace became more pronounced. Teresa sat down on Thomas' other side, leaning over to look at him, brow furrowing. :I'm sure.:

:Same here.: Sonya agreed, pulling herself up onto the desk, to sit on it beside Aris. :One-hundred percent.:

"With that, I'm going downstairs." Aris said, hopping off the desk, and starting towards the door, where Harriet stood. "I want food."

"Don't." Harriet grabbed Aris shoulder, pulling him back. He frowned at her, and her voice flooded through their minds. :They're not WICKED. We're sure of that, aren't we?:

They were. WICKED had mental shields. These people, they had none. Sonya and Newt's dive into the pairs thoughts - it was a bad idea to prod minds while said mind was driving a car you were in - had proved that much. They'd never heard of the term. Not once in their lifetimes. Melissa hadn't been told; top-secret government things. And Noah had no idea either. There were no traced of memory wipes, no replacements, nothing at all. Everything was... normal.

:So?: Minho asked, reaching towards the knife at his hip. Harriet turned to him, a hand still resting on Aris' shoulder.

:Let's not tip our hand to this boy, and Teresa's parents.: she warned. :We want to be normal, right? Or at least, fake it. No obvious weapons. Alright?:

:Good that.: Sonya muttered, rubbing her forehead. :And Harriet's right. We want to be normal? It starts now.:

Slowly, they gathered their gear. Organized it alongside their backpacks and packs, sorting it out, so that everybody had one of the small knives that the Runner's had carried for no reason other than they were light, quick to get to, and very good at stabbing. All of which were good qualities in the Maze and the Scorch.

Their gear had been housed in WICKED's headquarters, and when they'd blown it up, they'd stolen it back, thinking the Flare was real, thinking that everything that had happened to them was real, that nothing could be done about it at all, unless you were immune. Which, out of their group, two of them, were not. Except that the Flare wasn't real, so all of them were immune to it.

They hid their packs around the room, leaving the backpacks against the wall, under the window, and started downstairs, moving once again as a group. Noah and Melissa were at the kitchen counter, mixing salad, and cutting cheese and apples. The Gladers hovered around the space. Newt and Aris stood by the back of the couch. Thomas and Teresa stood by the backdoor, glancing into the backyard. It was fairly similar to the front yard, with weeds and messy green grass, with patches of dead yellow. A fence was at the back of the property, with a forest rising behind it. Sonya, Minho and Harriet stood by the hallway, their backs close to the walls, and all together, the seven had a perfect view of the entire space.

Noah kept glancing at Thomas, who was clenching Teresa's hand in his own, the two of them shoulder to shoulder, like Harriet and Sonya were. Melissa seemed supremely unbothered by it all, mixing away, turning up the sound on a rectangular device that played music, and singing along as best she could.

"None of you have any allergies, right?" Melissa asked, and they exchanged looks, all shaking their heads. "That's good then. Would you like some salad?"

Harriet was the first to step forwards. She'd been called the Trailmaker for a reason, one they all recalled vividly, as she picked up one of the ceramic bowls that were stacked on the counter, and held it up for Melissa to serve. The women lumped a fair amount of the greens into the bowl, and dropped a metal item in as well. Harriet blinked, before recalling exactly what a fork was. She started to move back to where she'd been standing, when Noah cleared his throat.

"Don't you want dressing?"

Harriet paused. They hadn't had dressing. Sometimes, they got lemons from the box, or oranges, if they were lucky, but that had been rare. They'd tried to grow lemon and orange trees several times, but always failed. The climate just wasn't right for it. And they hadn't had dressing for anything, unless you counted Frypan and Maya squeezing lemon juice onto salad on special occasions. Usually on their biyearly celebration nights. They'd only had four of them, almost five.

Harriet hesitated, then nodded, not consulting the others in her decision. Noah smiled, and pointed to a few bottles on the side of the counter. Hesitantly, Harriet stepped towards them, setting her bowl down, holding herself just so that she could still see Melissa and Noah, even as she unscrewed the first bottle. She squeezed a small amount onto her finger, and licked it, making a face.

"No, thank you." she said, putting the bottle back down, and moving back to her previous position. :Minho, your turn.:

:Shuck-face.: Minho grumbled, but went all the same. One by one, they all accepted bowls of the green leaves, and one by one, returned to their positions at the walls, starting to eat with the usual kind of precision. :Gah, we're so jacked.:

:No kidding.: Sonya murmured, forgoing her fork for her fingers, just shoving the leaves into her mouth and chewing. Some of them used the metal device. Most of them didn't.

And then one by one, they returned their bowls to the sink, following Melissa's lead once the nurse had finished, and washed them out, drying them, and setting them on a cloth on the counter, alongside the forks. They returned to their positions at the walls, and Noah cleared his throat.

"So, what do you kids like?" Noah asked, and they exchanged looks.

"Running." Minho offered, but didn't say anything else. Noah blinked at that.

"All of you?"

"Aris doesn't." Sonya said dully. "And I don't. But we've done the Maze before. Requirement, even if we didn't go to the edge."

"The Maze?"

"Where we were." Teresa said, finger's wrapped around Thomas' again, holding on tight. "Exactly what it sounds like."

"No shit." Newt grumbled, crossing his arms, as he leaned slightly on the chesterfields back, taking weight off his injured leg. Aris' hand brushed the former Runner's wrist, making him twist slightly, to bring the smaller boy into his peripheral vision slightly more. Aris gave a weak smile. Newt didn't say anything.

The Gladers exchanged more glances as the silence wore on. Noah cleared his throat again. "There's trails in the Preserve. Just outside the backyard. If you guys have a watch, you could go for a hike if you like."

"I have a watch." Minho said, his voice just as flat as before, dead of all emotion at he read into the subtext. "When do you want us back here?"

"How about five?" Melissa suggested, setting a hand on Noah's shoulder. "Dinner should be ready by then. Take you time, take a minute. You haven't really had a moment to breathe, have you?"

"No." Harriet said coldly, standing straight and starting towards the backyard, not looking at the two adults as she passed. "No for the past three years."

It was true. Even in the Glade, they hadn't really relaxed. There'd always been something to do, a meal to cook, a garden to tend, a map to draw, someone to bury, a story to explain, a building to be made or repaired, someone injured to be tended to. They hadn't ever gotten a real moment to breathe. Always just going, going, going, tense, wondering if that night would be the night that the doors stayed open. Because that happened. Sometimes three days in a row. Sometimes, not for four months.

One of the guys had claimed a small stack of paper, to keep track of when the doors stayed open, trying to find a pattern. He never did. They eventually burned the paper on the seventh day the doors stayed open, before they went and made their escape. It had been symbolic. They'd burned a lot of things that night, actually. Fire seemed to confuse the grievers, when set off suddenly, blinding them for a few moments. And a few moment's was enough for the Gladers to sink a half dozen arrows, spears, and knives into a griever, enough to cripple it at the least, and more often than not, enough to kill it.

They'd gotten fairly good at killing the grievers over the years.

* * *

Noah watched the kids file out of the house, not a single one of them turning their back on him or Melissa as they did. Watching through the living room window, he watched as they all climbed over the fence, with the sort of ease that his son had never had before. All of them, even the boy, Samuel, who said he was Newt, who Noah knew had a limp, from the reports Melissa had shown him, didn't seem to have any trouble getting over.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered, head dropping into his hands as the kids vanished into the woods. "Melissa, what did I - how could I let this happen?"

His son had vanished when he was twelve. Just before seventh grade. Just before high school. By all logic, he should have been dead. All statistics, all history, all pointed to him being dead as could be. But Stiles wasn't dead. He was alive, wearing dirty boots like all the other teenagers, and a half ripped shirt that had been stitched back together at least a dozen times, with a bandage around his shoulder.

With six other kids, five of whom Noah had never seen before in his life, all of whom had weapons on them when they entered, god, the weapons. Noah would have to speak to them about it. He didn't have a problem with them having it, he'd been a soldier, he understood security. If having those tools within reach was what the kids needed to feel safe, they could have them. But he couldn't have them walking around town with knives and a machete and a bow, of all things. That would raise questions, invite conflict, things he didn't want them to have to deal with, things he didn't want to have to deal with himself.

"Since we're alone," Melissa started to say, reaching into her bag, and pulling out a tablet. "Why don't we go over their situation? I couldn't tell you everything, security reasons or something along those lines, but I can now."

"Sounds good." Noah heard himself say, and he sat down at the table beside her, as she powered on the tablet, and opened something up. She entered a passcode, opened something else, and had to go through a few more codes, before she set the tablet down.

"We don't know much. The only people alive that we know of who know anything, are the seven kids you just met. They react violently or at least defensibly with being called their birth names, and have already asked for their names to be changed to the ones that they go by now."

Noah swallowed. "Alright."

"Harriet is the eldest. She's marked as the 'Trailmaker' of the group, and seems to be the most open to confrontation. She's not scared of asking questions that the others might shy from, and she's not scared to stop talking and punch instead. Don't let her goad you into a fight, she took out at least ten soldiers in about fifteen minutes flat, while half-drugged."

"Christ."

"Yes. The files we recovered from the explosion of the headquarters indicate that she was taken because she's a prodigy, like the others. Her skills are mainly in the physical department. Martial arts, pressure points, things like that."

Noah rubbed his forehead, as Melissa tapped on a video. It took over the entire screen, showing the darker skinned girl, dressed in grey leggings and a white tank top, her feet and hands bare. She was in some kind of padded cell, with four people around her, one on each side, all holding staffs. As Noah watched, the girl, who had to be at most fifteen when the video had been taken, took them out with only slight difficulty.

"She's the oldest, and one of the more protective kids. She's also very good at archery, which is something to keep in mind."

Melissa flipped to another file, this one showing the blonde boy, Newt. "Newt is second-eldest. He's marked as the 'Glue' of the group. He's one of the leaders, in the sense that they all listen to him, although he doesn't seem to call the shots. He has a limp, that is marked in his file as from 'unprecedented fall from great height'. It doesn't seem to bother him as much as we thought it would, considering the amount of scar tissue."

She flicked through a few images of the boy, most of them from hospital security camera's, holding onto one of the other kids, while security and staff watched, as he seemingly calmed them down. "His sister is Sonya, who's marked as the 'Light'. She appears to be the youngest, and most dramatized, likely because the memory wiping affected her severely. From what the others tell us, she had a form of dementia or memory loss for a few weeks after what they call the 'Swipe', where she could not recall anything that had happened before she woke up from a deep sleep. They did a study on her in their 'Maze', and concluded that the most likely reason it was happening was when she entered the REM cycle of sleep. She couldn't solidify the memories she'd made correctly, causing her to wake up with no knowledge of her situation."

"What happened?"

"They attempted a few treatments. Mostly just random things, since they didn't quite know what to do. They attempted to hypnotize her at one point, created certain teas they thought might help, and got her to keep a journal every day. Eventually, about a month and a half after the original Swipe, she began to remember things from the day before, and eventually was like the rest of them. It has left a lasting impression, where she'll insist the others tell her what happened the day before, so that she can confirm it hasn't happened again. If she can't get that confirmation, she goes into hysterics."

A video played, of the girl screaming and thrashing in a hospital bed, as two nurses or doctors tried to hold her down. She was sobbing, screaming incomprehensibly. One of the men stumbled back, clutching at his nose as it gushed blood, freeing her arm to punch the woman in the nose, and twist her wrist hard, snapping it if the scream the woman let out meant anything.

Melissa quickly skipped ahead, showing the girl running into a side room, and demanding a girl with brown hair tell her what had happened the day before. Melissa stopped the video, and moved on.

"Aris Jones. He's one of the few who received a last name along with his first name. He's known as the 'Partner' and seems to be very quiet, soft-spoken. He didn't fight back against the doctors, but like the others, Harriet with combat, Newt with geography, and Sonya with languages, was a prodigy, although his expertise lays in art."

"Why take an art student?" Noah asked. "Languages and combat I can understand, but why art?"

"We're not sure." Melissa admitted. "And we don't know what the others specialize in either. Those files were broken. What I'm showing you now is everything we have on WICKED, and what they did to the kids."

"Thomas was labeled as one of the leaders by the group. They took him because he seemed to adapt remarkably well to situations without any mental stress. Also, he was diagnosed with ADHD as a child, and research has proven that those with ADHD do better in hunter-gather societies, than those without, which is essentially the kind of place he was put into. It was a useful trait in his situation, and his counterpart, Rachel, also had ADHD. Their survival rates were apparently projected to be a large percentage higher than the others, and our experts agree that it works out. Those with ADHD tend to be good at hyper focusing, as it's shown in the name, and are excellent problem solvers. They're also notoriously terrible at thinking inside of the box, to the point where it might as well not exist."

Noah nodded, throat dry. He knew this version of Melissa. It rarely came out, but it was curt and professional and didn't leave anything out. Whatever details she had or might infer, she'd give him. "I see."

"Minho was labeled as the Leader, although he seems to have conceded that role to someone else, for the moment. From one of the reports we scavenged, it seems that they had three leaders. Minho lead when they weren't in the middle of a crisis, but when it was close, Thomas lead when the sky was falling, for a lack of a better term, and Teresa lead in times of calm, like now.

"Minho was the Keeper of the Runners. We're not sure what they did, but he's remarkably fast, and a geography expert. We believe they made maps daily, of where they went, and if so, the combination that we've seen Minho as seems to make him an excellent candidate for that role."

She played a video. It was more of a montage, actually. The boy, Minho, breaking out of his hospital room. He managed to get down sixteen flights of stairs before he was restrained, and didn't even look slightly out of breath. Noah was impressed, nodding at Melissa to continue. She opened a file labeled 'Subjects A1 & A2'. It showed an image of Noah's son, and the girl who'd stuck close to him in the living room. "Teresa Agnes. One of two people who got a last name. Named after Mother Teresa."

"What?"

"Right, right. They're named after famous people in history; or most of them are, at least. Minho doesn't appear to be named after someone highly known, although it could be a minor figure in history, we're not quite sure. Sonya doesn't seem to be named after someone either, although the rest are. Aris after Aristotle, Newt after Isaac Newton, Harriet after Harriet Tubman, Thomas after Thomas Edison."

Noah was silent, digesting that. "Alright."

"Teresa and Thomas were both given an altered set of memories that made them believe, quote 'WICKED is good', along with Aris, and a girl named Rachel. They helped build the Maze, although they weren't involved in the planning of anything beyond that. Their memories were taken away, and they were all sent up eventually. Teresa was called the Betrayer."

Noah swallowed, staring at the image of a persons upper back, a close up shot, showing what looked like a handwritten tattoo between their shoulder blades, below their neck, and on their spine.

**Property of WICKED**  
**Group A, Subject A1**  
**The Betrayer**

The next photograph was the same format.

**Property of WICKED**  
**Group A, Subject A2**  
**The Guide**

And the next.

**Property of WICKED**  
**Group A, Subject A5**  
**The Glue**

**Property of WICKED**  
**Group A, Subject A7**  
**The Leader**

**Property of WICKED**  
**Group B, Subject B1**  
**The Partner**

**Property of WICKED**  
**Group B, Subject B5**  
**The Light**

**Property of Wicked**  
**Group B, Subject B7**  
**The Trailmaker**

Seven tattoos. All labeling the kids, the teenagers, as property of an insane organization. Noah felt sick. Who could have done something like this? Tattooed children, the youngest fourteen, the oldest maybe seventeen. Giving them roles, forcing them to wear the brand for the rest of their lives.

"Can they be removed?'

"No." Melissa shook her head, fury in her eyes. "The ink used is something we've never seen before, and treatments have not worked. We're looking into it, but it's unlikely that we'll find any answers or way to remove it. Just like the Swipe."

"What exactly, is the Swipe?" Noah asked, hesitantly and halting. Melissa swallowed, and her fingers laced together.

"Teresa explained it to us. It was like rebooting a computer, starting over from scratch. All the programs are there, everything that makes the computer work, but all the addition information added in afterwards is gone. They called it a Swipe, because it was like an eraser swiping away chalk on a board. They have a lot of names for things that they've come up with. We've managed to make a small list of them."

She opened a different file yet again, showing Noah the list. Only a few of them had definitions beside them, almost all with question marks. Clearly, the kids hadn't wanted to explain much.

"It's not uncommon for isolated groups to create their own slang." Melissa assured him. "From what we've been told, after a Swipe, they only remembered their names, unless something happened to change that, although we haven't been told what did that. They probably didn't have much slang, as they only spoke how their muscle memory told them to, which is why Newt has the English accent, and Sonya doesn't; she spent more of her childhood in America then he did, and leaned towards our accent instead. So they created words to mean things that they needed to have meaning."

"Ah." Noah nodded, still reading down the list. Sticks, blondie, shank, swipe, flare, beetle blades, grievers. None of them really stood out as having any meaning to him. "Alright then."

"I wouldn't question the slang." she added. "We want them to feel normal as possible, so if you could try and accept it, we think that would be helpful to the transition. Also, with the names. If you could try and use their secondary names, that would be helpful as well. Aris reacted very badly to being addressed as Will. He ended up having a panic attack in the end, unfortunately."

"Damn."

"Their names are the only thing they've been allowed to keep, you have to understand." Melissa said. "Every time they were Swiped, their names remained the same, no matter what. They could always remember them. Even Sonya, during her first months after the final Swipe, could recall her name. It's an anchor point for them."

"I understand."

* * *

The kids arrived back at the house at exactly six o'clock. On the dot. They looked exactly the same as when they had left, Teresa and Thomas gripping each other's hands, Harriet at the forefront - made a lot more sense, now that he knew she'd been branded as the Trailmaker - marching into the house, her ragged brown jacket tied tightly around her waist, dreadlocks held back with the same bandanna as before.

The two men who'd sat down on the couch, George and John, rose at the sight of the group, eyes wary but full of excitement. Melissa had already given them the explanation that they'd been begging for, and they'd taken it better than Noah had expected them to. The boy who'd been sitting at the table, on his phone, looked up, eyes lighting up with the same excitement as the couple, searching for Stiles.

Thomas. Not Stiles.

Noah wasn't sure the kid should be at the house. He hadn't really listened to the explanation his mother had given about Stil - Thomas' name, or about the trauma, seemingly mentally waving it off, because it was Stiles, his best friend, he'd know Scott when he saw him. Noah knew better. If the kid didn't know his own father, or Melissa, there was no way he'd know Scott.

"Teresa?" George asked, taking a step forwards. Harriet shifted her stance, partially hiding the girl behind her own, bulkier form. George paused, alongside John, taking in a breath. He smiled at Harriet. "I'd just like to say hello. Can I do that?"

Harriet paused, as if listening to something, then nodded once, sliding slightly to the side. "Don't try anything."

George nodded, and stepped forwards, leaving John in the middle of the room. The two of them had spoken together, seemingly deciding how to handle their daughter's return. They seemed concerned. Very concerned. But ready to handle their daughter's new self.

Teresa glanced at St - Thomas, and Noah watched as they held onto each other tighter, and then even tighter. Teresa swallowed. "I - I -"

Minho stepped between her and George, clearly warning him to back off. The man took a shaky step backwards, and Teresa sucked in a heavy breath, twisting away to face the wall, hands rising to tangle in the hair above her ears. The only sounds in the room were her heavy breaths. Sonya reached up for her shoulder, and Teresa let out a small whimpering cry. "Can't do this, can't - WICKED always lies, WICKED always lies, WICKED always lies -"

"'esa." Thomas said, reaching for her again. The moment his hand touched hers, her head shot up. She bolted, crashing between Newt and Aris, and darting towards the fence. Thomas started after her, only for Minho to grab his shirt, yanking him back.

"I got her." he said, then ran after the girl, jumping at the fence from a fair distance away, and vaulting over it, only touching it with a hand, before he was gone, after the girl.

"They'll be fine." Newt said calmly, stepping towards Sonya, who's eyes were wide with terror. He looked at the people in the room, seemingly taking charge of his little group. "Teresa was given a false set of implanted memories post-Scorch. She has difficulty discerning when things are real, and when they are not. Don't take it offensively, she's just gotta blow off steam for a little. Might take out a few trees in the process."

Scott had frozen when George had moved forwards, staring at Thomas, who'd ignored him completely in favor of Teresa, a hand reaching towards his head as he grimaced, the strange gloves he wore smudging a small amount of dirt onto his forehead. "Stiles?"

"No." Thomas hissed, whirling around, teeth bared. Aris lunged, grabbing the taller boy's arm with both hands, as Harriet stepped before the boy alongside Minho. "Not my name. Not my name."

"Tommy, calm down." Newt ordered firmly, still at the doorway. "Calm down, you hear me?"

Thomas sucked in a heavy breath, eyes closing as his fists clenched, and Aris' grip loosened marginally. "Not my name."

"We know." Harriet growled, eyes narrowed at Scott, who'd frozen once more, at the sight of the black girl clearly threatening him, all without a single word. Minho, while clearly fierce, didn't have much on the girl's level of terrifying. "And he better figure it out quick, you hear me finch? Figure it out real quick, unless you're one of them. Which you all might be. Might be one of them, all of you, just another Phase, might be."

"Harriet." Minho said, reaching out for her shoulder. "Harriet, it's not Phase Five, there were only four Phases, it's not Phase Five, it'd have started by now, the hospital took longer than even Phase Four did. There were only four of them. We're fine, remember."

"Maybe not." Harriet whispered, emotionless. "Maybe it's another lie. Maybe they changed the rules again, maybe they're cheating!"

"Harriet!" Minho snapped, grabbing her by both shoulders. "Slim it, you stick! We're not getting into this klunk, not now, you hear me?"

He met her eyes, and the two of them seemed to speak silently, as the other kids drew closer together, closer to the pair, and the rest of them watched in silence. "You hear me?"

She nodded, closing her eyes and drawing in a breath. "I'm fine Minho, hands off."

He let go.

* * *

It had been a week since the disaster of a dinner. In that week, a lot had happened. Noah, along with Melissa - who apparently, had changed her job to watching over the Gladers - had taken them shopping to a thrift store - the mall had been a disaster, and the Gladers were used to hand-me-downs, so they figured it would work better for them. Which had actually gone alright.

The store had been just about empty, letting the Gladers do more or less what they wanted. They all picked out a few clothes each, although not as many as the two adults would have liked, but then again, they'd been wearing the same clothes for the past few years, so they were given a bit of slack. Most of the clothes were similar to what the Gladers already wore. Lightweight, in blocked colors, usually green or blue or white or black or brown. Pants, which were mostly cargo-style, like what they'd worn in the Maze, and boots, or hiking shoes. Mostly boots. Only Sonya got shoes, and that was because none of the boots that they saw that they deemed 'useful' didn't fit her.

So they'd done that. They were all underweight, with little fat reserves or whatever - nobody really listened to Melissa when she'd gone over that part - meaning that all the clothes were baggy on them. Which meant that they all had gotten belts to hold the clothes on.

Then, a group of kids had come over. Which, wasn't exactly fine. The Gladers had gotten guests. Mostly medical professionals, who were doing certain check-ups or social workers confirming details about the adoption papers and such. And George, along with John had come over once a day for a few hours, trying to reconnect with Teresa, which had gone a bit better, although all the Gladers were still wary of them both.

But the kids had been the problem. There had been, a lot of them. Compared to the amount of people the Gladers had adjusted too. And they were loud.

Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Kira, Jackson, Allison. Six. Which was six more people who were loud than the Gladers were comfortable with. And four of them insisted on calling Thomas 'Stiles', while one of the girls had seemingly read everything she could on them - which was good, she knew how to steer the conversation in the right direction - and Scott only got the cue half the time.

It had ended very badly. Harriet had nearly stabbed Allison, who, surprisingly, had been impressed, Thomas had bolted, with Minho chasing after the Runner, and Sonya, who'd slept in for once, had been woken up by the noise, and insisted that Newt tell her everything that had happened the day before in explicit detail before she calmed down at all. And then Teresa had had some kind of breakdown when Kira seemed to think she and Thomas were dating, and had also run into the forest, after the two boys.

"She has bad experiences with relationships." Aris, who had become the calmest and most well-adjusted of them all to other people, not all that surprisingly, to the Gladers at least, explained. "So yeah, that's a no. And a no for the rest of us, with just about anyone, because well, bad experiences, so yeah."

The group hadn't been seen at the house since. Not a single member of them. Teresa refused to leave the house with her fathers, to nobody's surprise, and still refused to have physical contact with anyone but the other Gladers. And certain members of the medical professionals that came around. Although, all the Gladers were like that. They all slept in a pile on the floor by the bed, two of them keeping watch, on a rotating shift, like they had for ages.

But a few days later, longer than a week, but less than a month, they'd lost track, the Gladers finally agreed. Their paranoia was well-placed, but warranted. Even the small triggers that had set off their freak-outs about being in Phase Five had gone away, all of them finally convinced they were okay.

"You can go for a hike." Noah had suggested, just about every day, when they tired of dealing with 'normal' things. "Just be back by eight."

Always eight. As long as they got back, it was fine. Noah let them go out into the Preserve for as long as they wanted, as long as they were back by eight, and as long as they brought food and water. Which, they did. They always did, bringing the Runner packs they'd taken from WICKED, spending hours in the woods. They refused the maps offered, choosing instead to create their own.

* * *

"First day." Sonya murmured, as she played with a Cat's Cradle string she'd gotten from Teresa's fathers. She had a book for the different patterns, and had already mastered half of it just within the past two days. "Oh no, I'm going to be sick."

"You're not going to be sick." Harriet told the younger girl, as she slid a thin knife into her boots, before she tucked her jeans into the top of the boots. They were the same boots she'd worn in the Maze and Scorch and everywhere else. The soles had come off at one point, and Harriet had replaced them instead of getting a new set. The laces had snapped more then once, but Harriet had once again replaced them.

Sonya shook her head, like she didn't quite believe it. She was sitting on the stairs, already wearing her backpack. She transitioned into a different pattern with her string, the blue and yellow and green colored cord stiff around her fingers. "I'm going to be sick."

"You're not allowed to be sick." Harriet grumbled, standing up off the entrance mat, and swinging her own backpack onto her shoulders. She leveled a sort of glare at Sonya, meeting the blonde's eyes. "If you're sick, they'll think you're weak."

:That's not a healthy mindset.: Teresa chided from the front porch, where she was already halfway through one of her textbooks. She was probably the only one of them who was actually excited for school. The rest of them, less so. They'd done everything they needed to. They'd taken the placement test, chosen their classes and options and gotten their schedules. They had their supplies and knew the building layout.

:Shut up.: Harriet said, pushing open the front door, and holding it open for Sonya, who sighed, and stood up, walking out.

:Hey, I'm the mentally sane one of us.: Teresa pointed out, glancing at Harriet, who was wearing her normal face. Which apparently looked like she wanted to murder someone, according to Kira.


End file.
